


And Walk Yourself to the Laundromat

by mugglerock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Castiel Domesticity Fails, Dean Trying to be Super Proactive About It, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, For You Miss Any, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, One of the Possible Ways Destiel Could Become Canon, Post-Canon, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Sorry Disney, Teh Cute, added tags:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglerock/pseuds/mugglerock
Summary: Human metaphors like, “every cloud has a silver lining,” are infuriating. Especially when they’re right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anyrei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyrei/gifts), [Eyes_of_a_Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy/gifts).



> Hey Any, remember that day you got upset over your own laundry fail? Well, that’s what inspired this ridiculous piece of fluff. I love you, my awesome, amazing, brilliant, squeezable schwibbel. <3<3<3<3
> 
> Also, massive thanks, love, kudos, cookies, naked angels for an amazingly quick beta job to the incomparable [son_of_a_bitch_spn_family](https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family)! You are the friggin' best, my love! <3<3

**And Walk Yourself to the Laundromat**

 

Castiel let out an annoyed sigh as he pulled the laundry out of the dryer. He had yet to grapple the intricacies of such a mundane task, but it had not impacted his everyday life. Until today.

 

The Winchesters had found an old washer and dryer set on the side of the road a few months back, which had made all of their lives easier, considering the laundry of a dozen people was cumbersome in a laundromat. Not to mention expensive, and while Castiel wouldn’t have minded utilizing his powers to aid in that piece, Dean had been insistent.

 

There were so many facets of humanity Castiel had yet to grasp. Whether it was the difference between the Stooges characters (much to Dean’s chagrin), to what sort of water temperature would be required to prevent clothing shrinkage. _A problem I do not have to deal with in a laundromat,_ he thought bitterly. As he held up his much too small trench coat, Castiel let out another sigh.

 

“Cas?” Jack asked as he stepped into the makeshift laundry room, which was simply a converted utilities room.

 

“Hello, Jack.”

 

Jack sidled up next to him. “What’s the matter?”

 

Castiel held up the laughably small coat. “My intention to preserve my energy, my ‘mojo’ as Dean calls it, has failed.”

 

Jack’s expression was indicative of the amount of time he had spent with the Winchesters, lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to stop himself from laughing outright. Castiel might have felt annoyed had there not been a wave of fondness muting that confounded emotion. “Are you able to fix it?”

 

Even if he had enough energy stored away to undo the damage, it wasn’t something he could justify. On the off chance his powers were needed for a much more dire, pressing need. Castiel shook his head. “I don’t see the need.” Coat still held up, he eyed the item of clothing and held it up against Jack’s frame. “It might fit you.”

 

The way Jack’s eyes lit up brought him such joy, Castiel couldn’t help but think perhaps his inability to properly use a washing machine might have been a good thing.

 

Jack gently grasped the coat and slid it over his shoulders. It fit him perfectly. “You don’t mind?”

 

Castiel couldn’t help but smile. “It’s yours.”

 

Like a child in a superhero cape, Jack ran off, almost colliding with Dean as he left the laundry room. Dean had sidestepped with his hands raised as his eyebrows shot up, a mumbled apology from Jack before the nephilim disappeared into the bunker.

 

Dean chuckled and looked at Cas. “He looks even more like you in that thing. When did the kid get a trench coat?”

 

Castiel smiled, weirdly touched by the inadvertent compliment, as he started folding the remaining laundry. “Approximately two minutes and thirty seven seconds ago.”

 

That was met with a curious eyebrow raise. “Didn’t use cold water?”

 

“Where were you two hours ago?” Castiel grumbled as he continued to focus his attention on the task at hand, and not the distracting human.

 

Dean approached and started helping him fold. “You’ve been needing a coat upgrade for a while.”

 

Castiel quirked his brow, ignoring the pang of disappointment he felt at Dean’s words. “Was it not to your liking?”

 

“Don’t pout,” Dean chastised with an amused expression. “I just figured you could find a jacket that’s more… cool.”

 

And just because he knew it would frustrate Dean, having learned the colloquial speech of the eldest Winchester, Castiel replied, “I thought the point of a coat was for warmth.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and gently punched Castiel’s shoulder. “You know what I meant.”

 

“I did,” Castiel said with a well-learned smirk, “but I enjoy your exasperation.”

 

“Spoken like a tried and true Winchester,” Dean quipped with a wink.

 

Castiel chuckled, appreciating a rare moment of peace and levity. There weren’t enough of them in their lives. “I was bound to learn eventually.”

 

Dean smiled, his expression earnest and relatively content. Castiel wished he could see that expression more often. “So?” Dean asked as he shook out a shirt before folding it, “you up for a trip to find you a new jacket?”

 

Castiel couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.” As he finished folding the last pair of jeans, Castiel grabbed the basket. “When?”

 

Dean shrugged as he moved to let Castiel through the door first. “No time like the present.”

 

“Alright.”

 

* * *

 

It seemed less and less likely that Dean was going to live a normal life, but as he continued to grow older, he found it was getting easier and easier to have snippets of normal interwoven into the shitshow that was the life of a Winchester. Wipe out a vamp nest, thanks to the sneakily planted storage facility of weapons Crowley had left a “treasure map” for, then go grocery shopping. Hunt a shapeshifter, then play a round of mini golf.

 

While it wasn’t perfect, it was as close to a real life as they were going to get, and Dean found more and more of his own contentment in this idea. Maybe one day he’d own a bar, like Ellen did. Dean couldn’t help but smile as he turned left at the light on his way to the Goodwill.

 

Cas tilted his head in bemusement, a small smile playing around his lips. “It’s nice to see you smile.”

 

Dean ignored the heat that warmed his ears in mild embarrassment and waved Cas off. “I just like when we get to be normal.”

 

Cas’s bemusement was even more pronounced from the way his brows quirked. “I’d say our lives are as far from normal as possible, Dean.”

 

Granted that was probably true, Dean still couldn’t help but feel contentment. Especially after the fucked up year they had. “Still, I never imagined I’d be taking an angel clothes shopping. It’s weirdly… domestic.”

 

Cas let out a soft laugh. “It’s funny, I thought the same thing earlier today.”

 

Dean chuckled as he pulled into the parking lot. “So… what’re we thinking? Gonna join the cool kids and get a leather jacket?”

 

That was met with a smirk. “I was thinking a bright yellow raincoat.”

 

The bark of laughter that erupted from Dean was as surprising as it was delighted. Just imaging Cas in such a thing made Dean’s cheeks hurt from the way he was smiling. “And that’s why you’re my best friend.”

 

“My clothing taste?” Cas asked as he stepped out of the car.

 

Dean nodded. “Yup, that’s it. That’s the only thing.”

 

Cas chuckled as they made their way into the Goodwill. It was weird how human Cas looked when he laughed. Dean decided then to make Cas laugh at least once a day, if he could. It was only fair, Cas always made Dean laugh.

 

As they made their way to the men’s coat section, they took a side of a rack and started perusing the different jackets. When he found an obnoxious light purple track suit jacket, he held it up for Cas. “How about this?”

 

That was met with an unamused expression and an eyebrow quirk. “That’s more your color.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to the rack. That was when he saw the perfect leather jacket. He grabbed it and rounded the rack to approach Cas. “Here, try this on.”

 

Cas seemed impressed as he slipped his arm into the proffered jacket sleeve. Dean ignored the voice in his head about taking the Bogie role in this gentleman situation. He stepped back as Cas pulled on the jacket the rest of the way. Cas lifted his arms and gave Dean an expectant look. “What do you think?”

 

As he soaked in Cas’s appearance, he couldn’t help but think the angel looked weirdly… hot was the only word that came to mind. Over the years, Dean had become more and more accustomed to what he referred to as his ‘gay thoughts’. Which Cas was the frequent star of. Not that Dean would ever act on them. But he was finally becoming more comfortable with having them.

 

Hell, at least he stopped going out for one night stands every time he had a sex dream or dirty thought about those pouty lips. “I think it’s the winner,” Dean said, annoyed that his voice broke slightly. Like a prepubescent boy around a girl (or in his case, celestial wavelength of intent) he liked.

 

“Is it ‘cool’ enough for you?” Cas challenged as he started taking the coat off again.

 

Dean could hear the quotes in Cas’s question. He smirked and said, “Yeah. So? You want it?”

 

Cas folded the coat over his forearm and smirked. “I’ll purchase this, if you find a new shirt that isn’t plaid.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, but the competitive part of him liked that his best friend was challenging him. He nodded for Cas to follow him over to the men’s shirts section. Again, they found themselves on either side of the rack, searching through the ridiculous amount of options. When he found a D.A.R.E. t-shirt, he bit back a laugh and held it up. “Cas, let me introduce you to one of this country’s dumbest attempts at drug prevention, well, besides mandatory minimums and the war on drugs.”

 

Cas furrowed his brow and did that damnably adorable head tilt thing. At this point, Dean used references just for this reaction. “Dare to resist drugs and violence?”

 

As Dean put the shirt back on the rack, he chuckled. “Yeah, basically a bullshit program to convince twelve-year-olds to abstain from drugs and gangs, that probably led to more drug use, not less.”

 

“I see,” Cas hummed thoughtfully, brows still scrunched from thought. Cas was bringing out all the hits.

 

When a hint of yellow caught his eye, Dean grabbed it and immediately barked out a laugh. He held the dirty yellow shirt up for Cas.

 

“Mustache rides, fifty cents?”

 

Dean grinned and nodded. “It’s two sizes too big, but damn, I kinda want it.”

 

Cas looked even more confused. “What is a mustache ride?”

 

 _Damnit!_ Dean tried, operative word being _tried,_ to refrain from sex talk with Cas. Because Cas asked a lot of questions and sometimes… sometimes it made Dean _think_ things. Sometimes it made Dean have bad seventies porn fantasies where Dean would remove his shirt and say something over the top like, _“let me show you.”_ So, it was safer to steer clear of the subject entirely. “Uh, it’s… where are mustaches?”

 

“I don’t understand the question.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and put the shirt back. “Men grow mustaches on their face, right?”

 

“Yes?” Cas asked, his tone lilted in hesitation.

 

“Think about it. If someone rode a mustache, what would that look like?”

 

Dean most definitely did _not_ enjoy watching the confusion turn into slow, surprised realization. And just to add a cherry on the sundae of adorable angel expressions, Cas actually ducked his head as his cheeks darkened. A blush. Maybe he should buy the shirt for Cas?

 

Suddenly Cas pulled up the most hideous red and yellow hawaiian shirt. “What about this?”

 

“No,” Dean said without hesitation, impressed with the diversion.

 

“You like red shirts,” he argued and Dean refrained from tossing the mustache ride shirt in his face.

 

Dean scoffed. “Dark red. And plaid.”

 

The small smirk on Cas’s face was new. Like he was actually in on his own joke this time. “My mistake,” he murmured as he put the shirt back.

 

“How about a compromise?” Dean redirected.

 

Cas quirked his brow expectantly. “On?”

 

“Since I picked your jacket, you pick my shirt.” It wasn’t like Dean would have to wear whatever hideous choice Cas made.

 

And honestly, he might wear it once or twice, if only for the expression on Cas’s face in that moment. Like he’d let Cas pick the music. Hell, maybe Dean would do that when they were done here. Really push Cas over the edge.

 

“Anything?” Cas asked, clearly intrigued by the idea.

 

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Give it your best shot.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel had never had a more difficult choice than choosing between the overly large purple tie dye t-shirt with a wolf on it or the other half of a couples’ matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse slim fit shirt that had a small frill on the red and white polka dot bottom half, the word, “His,” embroidered across the chest and back.

 

Dean’s vehement protests over the latter was what made his decision, albeit there was a semblance of satisfaction he felt at insisting the man own something with such a possessive statement. Not that Dean would ever know that.

 

As Cas slipped into the passenger’s seat, he flashed Dean a quick smile. “I expect you to wear that on our next case.”

 

Dean snorted, a sound that became more and more pleasant as the years went by. “Yeah, totally appropriate for a fed.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes, a habit well learned. “I meant for if you work undercover.”

 

The way Dean laughed was reminiscent of the first time he made Dean laugh like that. It was even better than the autistic man’s heaven. “Alright, alright, fine. Next case where I dress casual, I’ll wear it.”

 

Considering he was expecting a drawn out debate, it was a pleasant surprise how readily Dean acquiesced. The protests had been half-hearted at best, and they left the consignment store with two new articles of clothing. Today had been a good day.

 

“I must admit, I am a little surprised how comfortable you are with such subject matter now.” They had settled inside of the vehicle with practiced ease.

 

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed north, instead of the south required to get back to the bunker. Perhaps Dean needed to run other errands. “What do you mean?”

 

It wasn’t often that Castiel was the one who needed to clarify to what he was referring. He offered Dean a smile and said, “Your comfort levels with ideas and concepts outside of your gender and sexuality. The way you embrace them now, as opposed to batting them away.”

 

Dean shrugged, another change in his prior responses. “Well, I had to get over it at some point, considering…” his words ended full-stop, body tensing in apparent distress at possibly revealing too much.

 

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. He knew that Dean did not wish to clarify, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Considering what, Dean?”

 

There was a beat of tense silence. So much so, Castiel assumed the conversation had ended, which happened sometimes. Never receiving answers to his questions because silence was the preferred response. But suddenly Dean sighed and said, “Considering I…” His hands twisted in a mimicry of wringing against the hard plastic of the steering wheel. “Might not be entirely… uh, straight.”

 

To say Dean’s admission was surprising would have been quite the understatement. Castiel found himself stunned to silence, unsure what the appropriate response was. He was well aware how such a thing was a ‘touchy’ subject for many humans, much to his complete bemusement.

 

As he rifled through the various popular culture knowledge (forced upon him by Metatron) for the correct way to respond, Dean (clearly having grown frustrated), barked out a soft, “Say something.”

 

Perhaps it would be easier just to ask. “What would you like me to say?”

 

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Forget it, forget I said anything.”

 

Castiel was well aware what that meant, so he waited a beat before summoning the will to go against his friend’s wishes. “I’m happy you had the courage to tell me.”

 

That was met with a scoff. “Yeah, and why is that?”

 

Sam had told him once that honesty deserved honesty, so Castiel tried to harness his once removed-from-emotion mentality and stared resolutely at the white lines of the road quickly disappearing beneath the car. “For selfish reasons, I suppose.”

 

Suddenly, the speed with which the lines were being swallowed began to decelerate as Dean pulled the vehicle over, stopped at a quiet, unending road surrounded by cornfields. It might have been peaceful if Castiel’s heart wasn’t hammering within the confines of his human form.

 

The distinct sound of a seatbelt being unbuckled and shifting of the shared front seat still wasn’t enough to get Castiel to look at Dean’s face. It wasn’t until a warm hand clasped his chin and forcibly (albeit gently) turned his face. “What do you mean?” Dean asked, but it wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

 

As his vision was clouded with a concerned green gaze that made the trees surrounding them pale in comparison, Castiel swallowed dryly, a lump in his throat. He took a steadying breath and pushed himself to give Dean the honesty he had been gifted. “Because of my feelings for you.”

 

Dean released his chin and drew back, the air between them tense, and Castiel found himself more unsure in this moment than any other he had experienced since his fall. “What feelings?”

 

Castiel sighed, realizing Dean was going to need to hear the words. “Dean, I fell for you. You are more than aware of what that means, why angels choose to fall.”

 

There was another beat of silence before Dean replied, “You fell _for_ me?”

 

A wave of annoyance washed over Castiel. Dean was either being purposely obtuse, or genuinely didn’t realize that. Either way, he had to repress the urge to smack the infuriating human upside his head. “Yes, Dean. I didn’t fall for humanity. I fell for one, very specific human.”

 

Dean stared at him for a moment before he breathed out a quiet, “Why?”

 

“Why do you think?” he bit back, unable to keep the anger from his tone.

 

“Because… you’re in love with me?”

 

And there it was, the words he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to say. Castiel sighed and merely nodded in response. Dean’s face was unreadable, and he momentarily wondered if he should make himself his own Ma’lak box to hide away for all eternity.

 

“Okay,” was Dean’s infuriating response as he shifted back to the driver’s seat.

 

Castiel had to refrain from screaming at Dean to say something more, but while there was a quick spike of an urge to do so, he knew he would never. His control over his emotional responses was one of the few perks of being an angel. It also meant he wouldn’t push Dean to clarify further.

 

Instead Castiel fantasized about the directions the clarification would take. All of the different responses he would hear from Dean. To the logical: _I don’t feel the same._ To the supremely illogical: _I do feel the same._

 

It wasn’t until they were back on the road, heading in the direction of the diner Dean loved to frequent that Castiel had accepted that neither of them would pursue further clarification.

 

Just as Castiel had resignedly shifted to stare out of his window at the passing scenery, he almost startled when warm fingers tentatively touched the back of his left hand. Castiel turned to look at Dean, certain his confusion etched into his features, brow furrowed, head tilted in silent question.

 

If it wasn’t clear the contact was by no means an accident because of just how far the man would have had to reach to accidentally touch his hand, the insecure smile that was flashed in his direction would have been. Dean appeared to grow bold and grasped Castiel’s hand before intertwining their fingers. Without saying a word, Dean’s attention was back on the road.

 

Castiel stared down at their entwined hands and couldn’t bring himself to quell the smile that emerged. He didn’t know what this meant, but there was a good to fair chance it was a very promising gesture. So, instead of breaking the silence with unnecessary questions, he squeezed Dean’s hand and felt warmth course through him when the action was returned.

 

Suddenly, he was incredibly grateful for his lack of knowledge when it came to water temperatures and washing machines.

 

 ~~**The End.** ~~ **The Beginning.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked you once how you imagined them actually going canon, hope I got close enough to your vision. I LOVE YOU WOMAN.
> 
> And in case you were curious, the title is from the song: [Yakety Yak by the Coasters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cHB3Rbz1OI). ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because a certain someone *cough* [Eyes_of_a_Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy/pseuds/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy) *cough* demanded fanart in a timestamp, of Dean in the infamous shirt, I told Any that [if she painted it](https://anyreiart.tumblr.com/post/183136704636/dean-winchester-in-a-minnie-mouse-shirtskirt-art), I would write the smutty sequel.
> 
> And that's exactly what happened. So, you have them to blame for this. <3<3<3

Three weeks since there was a serious shift in Dean’s relationship with Cas, not that anything had happened outside of hand holding and exchanges of shy glances. The reality of it was Dean didn’t know how to take the next step, and _clearly_ neither did Cas. And knowing their luck, that step would be had at the precipice of a life or death situation. So Dean decided to focus his attention on looking for cases.

 

The problem with that being they now had several hunters in the bunker, and Sammy was suddenly the guru of deciding hunts, which meant Cas ended up on several hunts with less experienced hunters. And Dean begrudgingly accepted that made sense, but still…

 

The opportunity never seemed to present itself. An opportunity for alone time. To maybe have a more in depth discussion over what it was they wanted out of this shift. Was romance part of the equation? Sex? Dean Winchester hated not knowing, and when it came to what was happening between him and Cas, he was in the total fucking dark.

 

It was a Thursday when Cas came stumbling into the bunker, white shirt muddied with the deep maroon of old, dry blood between patterns of fresher, bright red blood. Face pale and almost gaunt, from clearly having his ass handed to him. Maggie was behind him, helping Lydia down the stairs. While Sam, Jack, and Bobby immediately went to aid the girls, Dean was instantly at Cas’s side.

 

“The hell happened?” he demanded, more than asked, as he guided Cas to a chair in the map room.

 

Cas groaned and tried to wave Dean off. “Despite Michael’s departure, his creations still exist. We encountered a group of the werewolves he changed.”

 

In that moment, Garth practically fell down the spiral staircase. Without thinking, Dean whipped out his gun and pointed it at his friend’s heart.

 

Cas immediately braced his hand over Dean’s to lower the weapon. “Don’t be stupid, Dean. Garth helped us.”

 

The werewolf held his hands up in surrender still, eyes widened with terror. That alone should have put Dean at ease. Despite being an archangeled up werewolf, the guy was still a friggin’ kitten.

 

Dean sighed and placed his gun back in its holster. “You’re fine, Garth. But next time, you might wanna knock.”

 

Garth gave him a lopsided smile as he approached. “Thanks, Dean.”

 

There was a bustle of noise as a couple of the hunters Dean still hadn’t learned the name of started whipping out first aid kits and talking over one another as they tried to patch up the girls, getting to the bottom of the situation.

 

 _Where are the wolves now?_ Garth and Cas killed half of them, the other half apparently scampered away with their proverbial tails tucked between their legs. _Do they still pose a threat?_ Of fucking course they did. _Do we have a plan to find the other half?_ Dean rolled his eyes and decided then to tune them out.

 

He did so by grabbing his own first aid kit and helping Cas to his feet.

 

That was met with the damnably adorable head tilt, but he allowed Dean to loop his arm under his and guide him towards the bedrooms. “Where are we going?”

 

“I need quiet,” Dean clipped as he automatically went to Cas’s room. They were less likely to be interrupted in Cas’s room, mostly because every hunter knew which rooms were Dean’s and Sam’s, but only a handful knew everyone else’s.

 

Dean pushed the door to Cas’s room open with his boot and helped the angel to his bed. He unceremoniously dropped the kit next to the angel and started rolling up the sleeves of his favorite flannel shirt.

 

Suddenly it hit him. They were alone. _Shit._ Had it always been that easy? Ignoring the voice in his head – that suspiciously sounded like Crowley – giving him shit for his own idiocy, Dean then flashed an almost insecure smile at his… angel.

 

“Shall I remove my shirt?” Cas asked as he started pulling off the tie.

 

Considering the guy was covered in blood, Dean figured it was highly inappropriate that he found the action incredibly sexy. _Bad brain!_

 

On the plus side, Dean was apparently having less and less issue with the fact Cas was a dude. Dean nodded as he opened the kit and pulled out the rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and needle and thread. When he looked up again, he swallowed dryly at the image before him.

 

Cas sitting on a bed, shirtless. Never mind the gashes and wounds on his abdomen.

 

Dean cleared his throat and focused on the task at hand as he moved to kneel in front of Cas, carefully cleaning the wounds first. “Does it hurt?”

 

The bitchface he received in response rivaled his brother’s. Dean was pretty impressed. He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. Dumb question.”

 

Cas hissed when the cotton ball came in direct contact with the biggest gash just under his tattoo. “Shit,” he breathed out.

 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It must hurt if you’re swearing.”

 

Cas merely nodded.

 

After cleaning each wound, Dean sank back against his heels as he threaded the needle. “Don’t have enough juice to heal yourself?”

 

That was met with a shrug. “I’m trying to reserve my powers for more dire circumstances.”

 

Dean scoffed. “This…” he waved to all of the wounds on his torso, “doesn’t count as dire?”

 

“These wounds are superficial and will heal naturally.”

 

Stupid, self-sacrificing angel. But instead of calling him out on it, Dean simply returned to the task at hand. Something he could do without much thought, considering how many times over the years he had played field doctor for his brother, himself, hell, even their father. Which ultimately turned out to be a bad thing, considering Dean’s thoughts were suddenly on the muscles beneath his fingers as he pulled Cas’s skin taut for the procedure.

 

Cas was… fitter than the baggy, unflattering clothes gave him credit. While he didn’t have a six-pack, his abdomen was well defined and toned. A subtle strength that you wouldn’t – and Dean didn’t – give the guy credit for. Very little body hair too, other than the treasure trail, as dark as the hair on his head, disappearing down the hem of Cas’s pants.

 

Dean drew back for a moment, realizing he was, yet again, skeeving on a guy he was supposed to be patching up.

 

Cas looked down at him in bemusement. “Is everything alright, Dean?”

 

The urge to wave him off, lie, all of the hits of the Dean Winchester Repression album, was overwhelming. Instead, he sighed as he braced his free hand on Cas’s knee and looked up at him. “I was thinking about how hot you are.”

 

“I am not capable of having a fever, Dean.”

 

Dean barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Hot as in sexy, Cas.”

 

“Oh,” Cas breathed out, cheeks darkening, and damn it if that didn’t make him sexier. “That’s… that’s quite flattering.”

 

Dean gave him a small smile, and finished stitching his friend up. When he was done, he put the needle and thread down to gently take Cas’s hand in his own. “Hey, Cas.”

 

Cas returned the smile, an almost shy expression on his face, and damn it if that wasn’t endearing. “Hello, Dean.”

 

Before he could say anything else, there was a rapping at Cas’s door. Dean rolled his eyes and moved to stand up. So much for thinking going to Cas’s room would give them the privacy he wanted. As he pulled the door open, Sam’s eyes widened to see Dean answer.

 

“What?” Dean barked.

 

Sam was visibly taken aback, but he quickly recovered as he looked to Cas. “Uh, we’re having a debriefing of the hunt in the library.”

 

Without missing a beat, Cas moved to stand, putting his bloody shirt back on.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and told Sammy they’d be right there. At his brother’s departure, Dean approached Cas and halted his movement. “Don’t put a bloody shirt back on.”

 

Cas tilted his head again. “My only other shirt is in the laundry.”

 

At that, Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. He nodded for Cas to follow him as he headed to his own room. “Come on.”

 

When they reached his room, he had no idea what possessed him to hold the door open for Cas, like a friggin’ gentleman, but thankfully Cas didn’t mention it. Dean darted right for his chest of drawers, digging through the top drawer. He pulled out an old AC/DC t-shirt and tossed it to the angel.

 

Cas smiled and immediately shrugged it on. “Thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean nodded and, as he turned to shut the drawer, his eyes caught the ridiculous shirt Cas picked out for him a few weeks back. The day that caused the unmoving shift in their relationship.

 

He sighed and shut the drawer before turning to Cas, who appeared just as conflicted as he felt in that moment. Dean wanted to ask so many questions. Try to move them forward, try to overcome this weird stalemate they found themselves in.

 

The problem with that being, Cas wasn’t _in_ on his thought processes and said, “I’ll see you in the library.” Suddenly Cas was gone, almost as quickly as if his wings still worked.

 

There needed to be a catalyst. One of them needed to take a step, make a move, do something. Otherwise they were going to constantly find themselves at this fork until the engine idled and they ran out of gas. And Dean didn’t want that.

 

He looked back at the chest of drawers, and suddenly a ridiculous, impressive idea popped into his head. Dean grinned and opened the top drawer, pulling off his current shirts and grabbing the Disney shirt.

 

Dean shrugged it on and as he straightened it out, he realized in that moment that it might not have been a shirt. From the length of it, it was apparently a friggin’ babydoll dress. Dean shook his head, unable to hold back the laugh.

 

Well, if this didn’t move them in some sort of direction…

 

Dean took a steeling breath and made his way to the library. When he passed one of the guys – whose name he still didn’t know – his attire was met with a bemused eyebrow quirk, but thankfully no commentary.

 

When he reached the library, everyone clearly presently engaged in conversation, his appearance caused an immediate simultaneous silencing. Sam had been in the middle of asking a question and stopped mid-sentence to gape at his brother, causing everyone who had their back to Dean to turn around. Including Cas.

 

 

Dean cleared his throat, trying to play it off, ignoring the gaping mouths and wide eyes of every person sitting at the table. That was until Sam burst into laughter, instantly breaking the tension as everyone else joined him in his levity.

 

Everyone, that was, except Cas, who was just staring at Dean, expression unreadable and gaze hyper focused. Dean rolled his eyes at everyone else and moved to sit next to Cas, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Dean. A heated stare that was suddenly making Dean question whether or not he should have pulled this move.

 

After everyone had calmed down, Sam started to finish what he was saying when Cas stood up, raising his hand to halt Sam. “Excuse me, Sam. I need to speak with Dean.” His tone was authoritative and insistent. There was no argument.

 

Dean hated that the tone went straight to his dick.

 

Cas arched his brow expectantly at Dean and started walking back towards the bedrooms hallway.

 

 _Shit._ Maybe he _was_ in trouble. And not the fun, dirty kind. At the bemused shrug from his brother, Dean got up and walked in the same direction the angel disappeared. When he closed the door leading to the hallway behind him, suddenly he was slammed against the door.

 

Dean’s eyes widened, a weird flashback to the night Cas stopped Dean from saying yes to Michael that first time. Before he could ask, or even brace himself for whatever violence were to follow, Cas dove forward, lips first.

 

Dean couldn’t repress the surprised gasp before he melted into a ferocity whirlwind of need. Cas clearly knew what he was doing as he suddenly lifted Dean up into his arms, pressed against the wood of the door, almost forced to wrap his legs around the angel’s waist as the kiss grew more demanding, surprisingly soft lips hard and determined as Cas took the reins.

 

It was the hottest damn kiss of Dean Winchester’s life. And that was saying something.

 

When they finally drew back, breathless and panting at the lack of oxygen their need had caused, Dean braced his forehead against Cas’s, letting out a soft laugh between pants. “Not that I’m complainin’, but what brought that on?”

 

Cas let out a chuckle, the sound deep and causing a pleasant reverberation down Dean’s spine. “Forgive me,” he breathed out, voice even deeper than usual. This time the sound went straight to Dean’s dick. “I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

 

Dean tilted his head to draw Cas in for another kiss, yet again a movement that spurred a desperate need to get closer. When Cas’s skillful tongue fought for dominance, Dean relented, melting into an aggression that made his head spin.

 

Without breaking contact, Cas began to carry Dean to the nearest room, which just so happened to be Sam’s. And whatever happened, Sam brought it on himself for interrupting them that first time as far as Dean was concerned. When the door seemed to magically open, Dean suspected Cas had used his grace to open and close the door behind them, because not once did Cas’s hands shift from their firm grip on his ass.

 

Cas dropped Dean onto the bed and immediately ripped the borrowed shirt off before crawling between Dean’s legs, hands now free to roam his person.

 

Dean couldn’t repress the shuddered groan that escaped as Cas focused on his jeans, making quick work of the buttons as he effortlessly pulled them down. Dean was grateful he decided to go commando today, because the impressed eyebrow quirk was worth the price of admission.

 

With Dean’s jeans now an unceremonious puddle on the floor, Cas crawled up the length of him to grind his still clothed erection against Dean’s bare one, notably not even touching the dress as he drew Dean in for another kiss.

 

“Shit, Cas… If I’d known this shirt would cause this reaction, I would’ve wore it home that day,” Dean murmured in between their needy kisses.

 

The gravelly chuckle that was met with was the hottest damn thing Dean had ever heard. Cas dove in for another kiss as one of his hands skillfully ripped open his belt, not bothering to pull it from the loops before pulling his underwear and pants down. Said hand then roughly pushed up the dress before he dragged his cock along the length of Dean’s own.

 

Dean gasped, not only from the dizzying sensation of sensitive skin on skin, but from the unyielding confidence Cas emitted. Absolute, not a single ounce of hesitation, as the angel gripped their erections in unison, warm palm and fingers expertly wrapped around them both before he started a torturously slow stroking rhythm.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean murmured incoherently as he bucked into Cas’s hand.

 

Cas kissed him again, as though able to read his mind as he started pumping faster.

 

Dean moaned outright, the familiar pleasant tightening in his balls as Cas pumped him closer and closer to orgasm. It was a little embarrassing, but it had been a minute since he’d gotten laid. He tried to distract himself. “Where’d you learn this?”

 

When Cas let out his own groan of pleasure, Dean knew he wouldn’t last, short of stopping Cas, and there was no way in hell that was going to happen. “You’re very bad at clearing your search history,” was Cas’s slightly broken response as his breathing grew more and more ragged.

 

That likely would have been enough to push Dean over the edge, but _clearly_ just to make sure, Cas slipped his other hand between them to put a little pressure on his perineum, hitting that sweet spot Dean usually had to contort himself to reach.

 

Dean cried out Cas’s name as he came over Cas’s hand, his seed now slicking the persistent pumping as Cas stroked them together until he reached his own completion. Which followed shortly, their combined juices smeared between their exposed bodies as Cas leaned in for a less frantic kiss.

 

A languid, lazy merging of lips, content and sated in a way he hadn’t been in years. Dean cupped Cas’s cheek and when he drew back, he shook his head in amazement.

 

Cas smiled and let out a contented sigh. “Just so you are aware, I have changed my mind about something.”

 

Dean furrowed his brow, not liking the sound of that. “What?”

 

Cas smirked, a well-learned (and sexy as hell) expression that Dean hoped to see more of in the future. “You are not to wear this…” he said as he twisted the skirt part of the dress into his fist, “on your next case. In fact, no one else is allowed to see you in it but me.”

 

Well, that settled that. Dean nodded and right before he pulled Cas in for another kiss, he murmured, “Deal.”

 

**Now: The End.**


End file.
